Charlotte Finch

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The tear that fell from the witch’s eye shone in the dim light of the forest. They were lit by moonlight here, a perpetual night blanketing the entire area, and Dream hesitantly reached out to brush the moisture from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I do not wish to cause you more sorrow.”

Truth be told, Dream did not know if Char would agree to his offer. He had behaved in an unseemly manner during their first meeting, and had nearly insulted her yet again during this one. 

Her soft thanks surprised him, but he took it as an agreement. He stepped closer to the witch, reaching out to place his hand gently over hers. 

“Be still,” he said.

Dream closed his eyes, reaching out through their point of contact and through the invisible thread that tied Char to her physical body. This was not a natural thing, but the witch was not plainly mortal– her kind was old, and powerful, and had a magic innate onto themselves, almost half a nightmare herself since her sisters were so feared.

He pulled– gently, inexorably– akin to what the witch had done under the moon’s power, but using no more than his own power. Finally, he felt Char’s physical form merge with her dreaming self, and he opened his eyes.

“It is done.”

Char flinched ever so slightly when Dream reached out to brush the tear from her cheek. Upon feeling his gentle touch against her skin, she couldn’t help but let out a small, quiet gasp. When was the last time someone had touched her like that? Gently, carefully, as if she were made of glass and not the burnished iron she had forged herself into over the centuries? She couldn’t remember...

Before she could say anything, his hand covered hers over the tree, and he told her to stay still. She did as he asked, truly shocked by the Endless’ actions and most recent words. What had caused him to become so kind to her all of a sudden? Did he truly have a change of heart, or was this just some strange attempt at an apology so he could continue on with his duties?

Char suddenly felt as if she were being pulled from...somewhere. It felt like the urge to turn around to see if someone was looking at her just over her shoulder, or if someone had just tugged on the back of her shirt to get her attention. It didn’t feel forceful, in fact, in almost felt as if she were being coaxed somewhere, asked politely...gently.

And then, like a lungful of fresh air after being surrounded by smoke, she felt herself become whole again. Her mind and body were now one as they would be in the waking world, and everything became sharper, clearer, less like a dream and more like reality. Breathing in deeply, she looked at Dream, her eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise.

“You...” she couldn’t finish her thought, for there were no words to describe how truly confused this man had made her. He had been so cruel to her the last time they met, and now he was offering her a peaceful place to truly recover. 

Blinking, she slowly removed her hand from underneath his and let it fall to her side, eyes still locked on his. 

“Thank you.”

I suppose we’ll never know, will we Dream King?

“No, I suppose not,” Dream said. Mortals always forgot the specifics of their dreams after they awoke, but he knew that their sub-conscious played a role in their waking lives. It was impossible to say what came first, however– the thought, or the dream of the thought.

He gave Char a withering look when she asked him if he was aware she was dreaming, holding batch the snappish reply that sprung to his lips. What was it about this woman that infuriated and intrigued him in equal measure?

“I am aware,” Dream said, dryly. “But it is in my power to take your physical form into the Dreaming without disturbing the elements.” 

He gestured, and the dreamscape turned into the haunted woods where the witches resided. They would not disturb them unless he called, but their environment was peaceful by itself. It would have looked familiar to Char, as the trees and plants were the same that had grown in the lands she had once called home.

“Stay as long as you like,” Dream said. “My realm is endless, and you will never want for new adventures, nor tranquility, if that is what you prefer.”

He rested a pale hand on the tree trunk, feeling the striations in the wood as he contemplated the witch’s question. “I have wronged you, perhaps,” he said. “And offering you sanctuary whilst you recover is within my power to do.”

He shrugged. “It is not a great thing to ask of me,” he said. “There would be no damage to the waking world if you accepted.”

Char did nothing to hide the impish little grin tugging at her lips when she saw how annoyed the Endless was at her questioning. She was nothing if not a bit vexing when she wanted to be. And how many people could say they had annoyed one of the Endless without meeting some dire end?

Blinking, she looked around as their surroundings changed. The trees, the foliage, even the air itself reminded her of home. Standing there, it felt like a hand reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. She had longed for this place for so long, it had become a steady dull ache within her chest for years. And now she was here, back home, surrounded by the trees she had once played amongst as a little girl.

Reaching out to touch a tree herself, Char’s eyes closed as she sucked in a deep breath, her eyes slipping closed. Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks, and a single one did fall. She didn’t wipe it away, she only smiled instead. Oh, to be here again...

Turning, she finally looked at Dream for the first time since they met. He was tall, dark, and watched her with a curious gaze. Perhaps he truly did want to apologize for how he treated her, even after she had caused so much trouble both in and outside of his realm. She didn’t deserve it; there was so much she had done over the years she’d never be able to atone for. But, if he was giving her this chance, perhaps she should take it.

“You confuse me,” Char said softly, her head tilted to the side. “So much.”

“The witches of the woods are the mothers of pagan nightmares,” Dream contested, brows furrowing. He didn’t know why he was defending himself, but the witches were conscientious, responsible nightmares who performed their functions. He was fond of them. “You judge nightmares so harshly for simply doing what they were made to?”

“I regret the loss of your people, but mortals are flawed creatures; they do not need a dream as a reason to kill. Surely the Romans would have done what they did without my nightmares hounding them.”

The orb in his hand wavered, and in it Barbara mounted a snow white horse with a handsome saddle. The creature was no Martin Tenbones, but if her soft smile was any indication, she would be just fine amongst her new friends.

Dream allowed the orb to fade, and finally they stood alone in the darkness once more. He contemplated his morose guest, imagining what his sister would say in his stead. Death had always had such a way with words, and if she had wronged someone, she would know exactly how to apologize and mean it.

“You should stay here,” Dream said, the words leaving him in a rush. “In the Dreaming.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his chin so he would not have to look at her. “If your friends will not have you in the waking world, then stay here,” he said. “You will do no damage here, and perhaps the witches of the woods would enjoy your company.”

He smiled faintly. “Perhaps if you spent time with them, you would appreciate their purpose.”

Char sighed, trying not to let her frustration get the better of her. He wasn’t getting it. How could he, when he knew nothing of her people’s suffering firsthand? He would never know what that was like

“I don’t hate the nightmares for existing. Nightmares must exist to uphold balance, I understand that. I hate that they were created on a villainized notion of my sisters. I hate that they take on the form of my sisters only as the Romans saw them...not how I saw them, or my people saw them. We were healers, Dream. Not monsters.”

Running her hands through her hair, closed her eyes for a moment. Perhaps the Romans would have killed them without the nightmares; she was sure that was their intent all along. But surely the nightmares had sped up the process? Maybe there had been time...no...no, she had killed that young soldier who had defiled her altar, no, there was no stopping the Romans.

“I suppose we’ll never know, will we Dream King?” Char asked, looking up at him again.

Turning her gaze to the orb, Char managed a soft smile as she watched Barbie settle into her new home. She had been right, the young woman would be just fine. She supposed she should be grateful to Dream for doing what would have taken her days to accomplish in a matter of moments. She should probably thank him...one day.

Lifting a brow at his offer, Char tilted her head curiously. “Me? Stay in the Dreaming?”

She looked down at herself, then let out an amused huff of air through her nose. 

“You do know I’m dreaming, too, right? So unless you want me physically in your realm--which didn’t end well the last time, remember?--someone’s going to wonder why I haven’t left my apartment in...however long you plan on having me stay.”

The thought of spending time with the reflections of her sisters sent a shiver down her spine. They wouldn’t be the women she had grown up with. Would they even understand why she avoided them? Could she get over her own prejudice around them?

“Of course it matters,” Dream said. “Regardless of your intention, you sought to fix something that you weren’t even certain was broken.”

He pressed his fingers to his temples; he had half a mind to rescind the fix, but it would do nothing but confuse an innocent dreamer. The affair with the Skerry had not been Barbara’s fault, though she had been among the most affected by it. Dream had no desire to harm her further.

“Little witch,” he said. “I do not know if your obsession with helping your friend was because of what I said in our last encounter, but if it was–”

He set his jaw. “Know that it was not my intention to cause you pain. If I was unjust towards you and your people, I would apologize.”

He conjured the sphere with Barbie’s new dream in his hand, and for a moment he watched as she sat by the lake, befriending the animals that flocked around her. Dream smiled faintly.

“I would not see you disappear from this realm, my lady,” he said. “And I am certain that your friends would not wish you to leave their lives, either.”

“Of course I was certain it was broken. Everything I touch breaks!” Char snapped, hands balling into fists. “And I wanted to fix what I had broken!”

Scoffing, Char crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from the Endless. For an omnipotent, omnipresent being, he was as dense as a bag of rocks. How could he not understand that his words had been incredibly hurtful? Was he that far removed from humanity that he simply didn’t care?

“If?” she repeated, lifting a brow at him. “You created a nightmare based off of my sisters. I’m sure that nightmare has caused enough pain over the last few centuries to carry on that legacy for eternity.”

Swallowing thickly, she closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. “There are no genetic decedents of my specific tribe. My culture lived on, but the genome for that particular area doesn’t exist in modern times. The fear those soldiers had of us was due to their superiors feeding into their own prejudices, and that blasted nightmare of yours didn’t help.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Char watched her friend enjoy her time in her new dream home. A small smile pulled at her lips, relieved that Barbie could now enjoy her dreams once again. But the smile faded, and she shook her head.

“Barbie doesn’t want to speak to me, which I understand. The other two are about to have a baby, and I doubt they’d want me around their child. Again, understandable.”

It had been years since Dream had felt so unsure of himself around a mortal, and it unnerved him. He had not been himself since the cage and it was the only reason he could think as to why the witch’s sharp words disturbed him.

His brows furrowed; he thought that she would be pleased to be done with the task, but it seemed that he was wrong again.

“Spells come with a cost,” Dream said. “They always do. Whereas the price of my assistance was only the knowledge that Barbara would have requested this herself.”

He frowned as a thought struck him. “Are you certain that she wanted to dream again?” he asked. “The Skerry was her second home for years. She dreamed of it, night after night, befriended its inhabitants. How do you know that she wished to have her connection to the Dreaming back, knowing that she would never see the Skerry again?”

Char had turned away but Dream appeared before her, his pale eyes glinting in the darkness. “I have no desire to make further accusations towards your person,” he said. “So I ask you now: do you fix what is broken for your friend’s sake, or for your own?”

“I am well aware of spells having a cost,” Char said sharply, keeping her back to the Endless. “I would not have become the witch I am without that knowledge.”

She felt like she was being chastised by the man. Apparently, in his eyes, she could do nothing right, do nothing that could help someone, instead of harm someone. Perhaps she deserved that opinion of herself. Looking back, she knew she had made many decisions that had harmed others, simply so she could get her way. It wasn’t until recently, when she had allowed herself to make some friends, when she tried to do something for others instead of herself, and she still managed to fuck it all up.

“I...” Char trailed off, truly not knowing the answer. Who wouldn’t want the ability to dream again? Yes, it wouldn’t be the same, but Barbara could make a second home, befriend those in that area. The Skerry was gone, but there were other homes her friend could make in the Dreaming.

Char was selfish, she would willingly admit that. She had been very selfish over the years, and perhaps it was a habit that was nearly impossible to break. Maybe that was why she wanted to fix her friend’s connection to the Dreaming; she couldn’t fix her past mistakes, but she could fix this one...

Flinching ever so slightly when Dream appeared before her, Char looked up into his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

Dream was taken aback by Char’s anger, his mouth thinning as he heard her answer. As much as he’d thought he owed her some sort of apology, he had instead insulted her yet again, and he found that her continued distress did not please him.

His hand dropped down to his side, hiding in the folds of his robe. “It is not given to you to mend that which is broken,” he said, but his voice had not heat in it. “This is my realm, and if Barbara needed something from it, she would have asked.”

He mustered a faint, flick of a smile that disappeared almost immediately. “Though perhaps I see why you would circumvent me and try to do it yourself,” he said. “I think… I have behaved uncharitably towards you, little witch.”

He gestured, conjuring Barbara’s consciousness in the palm of his hand in the form of a glowing ball of light. In it, her sleeping face was reflected, unmarred by worry or fear.

“If you think that she would appreciate returning to the Dreaming, then it is done.” His dark eyes glinted, and then Barbie appeared in the middle of a vast field of green. It was not the land that she had so loved in her previous dreams– that was gone forever– but it was close enough.

Dream closed his hand and the ball disappeared.

“Perhaps I owe you an apology for our last encounter,” he said. “And perhaps, the next time you think to tamper in my realm, for good or ill, you will ask first.”

“You think regular mortals would ever feel safe asking something of one of your kind?” Char ground out, eyes still narrowed in a sharp glare. “Especially after such a traumatizing situation that involved you?”

Char forced herself to turn away from Dream, not wishing to look at him anymore. She had been so close to getting a good grip on the situation. Had her spell lasted, she could have finished this all up in a few days, and disappear from Barbara’s life for good with little guilt attached. Her friend wasn’t speaking to her anymore, but at least she’d be able to dream again. She’d be able to sleep well again, be able to have an escape from the horrible-ness of daily life. 

Letting out a bout of harsh laughter, Char shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “Uncharitable is one word for it, I suppose.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Char watched as Dream conjured Barbara’s consciousness into the palm of his hand. Brows furrowing, she turned to fully face him again, watching her friend’s sleeping face. And then, feeling something jolt through the mental bond she had made with her friend, Char watched as Barbara’s connection to the Dreaming was returned to normal.

Char did not smile seeing this. It was all too easy, and confusing. Why would Dream suddenly decide to gift Barbara something that had been--according to him--naturally taken from her? The cuckoo had only been doing what it was created to do, so, naturally, nothing wrong had happened.

She felt so silly, so stupid. Here he stood, Lord Morpheus of the Dreaming, having fixed a problem she had spent weeks preparing to repair herself by simply waving his hand. He had taken that from her; Char had wanted to fix it herself, as it was her fault Barbara was in this mess in the first place.

It was rare that Dream admitted when he’d made a mistake. It was even rarer when he sought to rectify said mistakes, after he’d actually made them. But weeks had passed since he’d wandered into the witch woman’s dream, and he could not stop thinking about her.

Char had broken his rules, made a mess of the waking world, and caused the deaths of many. But he had been uncharitable towards her while he had accepted the cuckoo’s nature, and his own cruelty did not escape his notice.

He considered finding her again, to give her a happier dream of her lost people, but he procrastinated in doing so. It felt dishonorable to make amends secretly and then to pretend that it meant the same as having uttered the words.

And so he did not go to her, or apologize to her, or do any of the things which he knew he should. But he wanted to.

And so the day came when he felt a presence in his realm, uninvited and wrong, upsetting the natural order of things, and Dream’s first thought was of the witch. He followed the thread of unconscious, of the not-dreamer that he was unsurprised to discover was Barbara, and he appeared in her unconscious mind to confront the interloper.

It was Char, because of course it was. Ire suddenly rose in him, quick and sharp, and he appeared behind the witch woman in his coat made of stars.

He reached out to grasp her upper arm, wrenching her upright before she could do any further harm.

“What do you think you are you doing?”

With her eyes closed, Char continued to Cast, putting all of her focus on knitting Barbara’s connection to the Dreaming back together again. It would be slow work, and might take more than one night to finish, but she was determined to fix this horrible mistake of hers. 

Part of her wondered if Dream would sense her there in the dreamless void of Barbara’s subconsciousness. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, and while she was grateful of his absence--her anger towards him had yet to subside entirely, and she couldn’t trust herself to be entirely polite if and when he showed his face once more--she was curious as to why he stayed away. He seemed the type of being who would continue to gloat at her whenever he had the chance. Would he do so now, mocking her for trying to rectify her friend’s incapability to dream?

Time seemed to flow different here; while it felt like she had only been casting for a few minutes, in reality, she was sure dawn was fast approaching. She certainly wouldn’t be able to finish her spell tonight, but she had made significant progress. Barbara still wouldn’t be dream, but perhaps she wouldn’t have such an eerie place to go while she slept. She’d have to keep up her concentration until she felt her friend stirring through their mental connection, then she’d tie off what she had been able to reconnect, and continue on another night, perhaps in a couple days. She’d be exhausted, no doubt, and would need to take time to prepare the spell once more, and brew the lucid dreaming potion.

Suddenly, a hand curled around her upper arm and wrenched her sharply away from her spell casting position. Gasping, her eyes widened as she felt the connection she had managed to make unraveled, her concentration on the spell broken. 

Turning to face her attacker, her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach when she found it to be Dream himself. What little fear and surprise she felt upon seeing him was quickly replaced with that old rage she was so familiar with.

@thenightmarerealms

Weeks had passed since Char’s second meeting with Dream of the Endless. Like she had predicted, his words had plagued her, and the memories that had been dug up took ages to leave her. She had been a complete mess, and the added mess of the tsunami caused by her actions and the deaths that had resulted from it weighed heavily on her mind. There was only so much she could do to fix that particular problem, but there were other problems that she could fix, if she tried hard enough.

Barbara didn’t want to speak to Char anymore, and Char was going to respect that wish. She would never force her presence onto anyone, but it was her fault her friend couldn’t dream anymore. It had become clear to Char that this injury would never heal on its own, and decided to find a way to connect her friend back to the Dreaming.

After weeks of research, Char was finally confident that she had found a way to connect her friend to her dreams once more. She wasn’t going to pull down the moon again; once was enough, and she had learned her lesson. So, instead, she performed a spell that would connect her mind with Barbara’s, and after brewing a strong potion that would induce the deep sleep needed to lucid dream, Char slipped into the strange void that was Barbara’s dreamless sleep.

Dream turned over the witch’s words, mulling over them in spite of himself. He did not like to admit when he was wrong, and there was very little about Char that made him want to concede any points. Perhaps it was their initial meeting that had caused him to chafe so, but he also could not deny that it was he who sought her out.

Perhaps this warranted further thought.

He said nothing as she talked of her friends, pretending nonchalance when in truth he observed her from the corner of his eye. What a peculiar woman.

“Barbara does not dream any longer,” he said. “Perhaps she does not wish to see you, and be reminded of this amputation.”

That hadn’t even been Char’s fault, but he had seen it often enough. Humans were strange creatures, seeking to forget what they could not forgive, even when the blame lay on someone else.

“Isolation wear poorly on mortals, but you are barely so. Perhaps it would do you good.” He cannot resist the thin smile; the small provocation. If Lucienne were here, she would give him an exasperated look. It was probably good that she wasn’t.

Dream inclined his head, and sought to withdraw into the shadows. He would leave the witch to the rest of her dreams, and ponder over the strange meeting in peace.

Char took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She hated talking about her past, or even thinking about everything she had been through. It always set her blood boiling, thinking of the horrors the Romans put her people through, and she would either be so rageful she’d have to shut herself away to keep from snapping at the poor person who caught her in such a mood, or she’d become so despondent she wouldn’t be able to leave her bed for days at a time. At the moment, she couldn’t tell which she’d fall into, but she was certain she didn’t want Dream to see her that way.

She knew Barbara wasn’t dreaming. In one of the last conversations they had before her friend had told her she didn’t want to see Char again, Barbara had mentioned her lack of dreams. Char thought that perhaps it was a temporary thing, and that her dreams would come back once Barbara’s mind healed from the cuckoo’s actions. But Dream’s words made her rethink that theory.

“Perhaps,” Char replied, her tone of voice measured and void of emotion. “I...wouldn’t be surprised.”

How rude this Endless was. Char had never met one of the omnipotent beings before, but she had heard stories. Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, always had a reputation, but seeing it first hand was completely different than hearing about it. Perhaps she deserved it, though, after all the trouble she had caused him. Still, his words caused her to bristle, and she turned on her heel to snap at him.

Dream had seen humanity do all of this and more to each other over the millennia, growing hardened to their depravity. Did it matter that her people had not done exactly what the Romans feared they would? Nearly everyone who’d been alive at that time was now dust.

He felt a niggling of conscience at the witch’s obvious upset, however, and dismissed the nightmare. The ground beneath them was solid again, green and wet with dew instead of blood. “The waking world is not the only realm that matters,” he said. “If it was true in their dreams, what of it then?”

“I keep those precious to me safe,” he replied. “But they are few and far between. Mortals are greedy creatures, always seeking to amass power that they should not have.”

His gaze turned speculative, piercing. “Did your friends thank you for what you did for them?” he asked. “Or did they run from you, once you revealed the truth of what you were?”

“Their leaders fed them lies to make them afraid of my people. Not just the priestesses, but the normal people as well,” Charlotte continued, some of the bite gone from her voice now that the horror was gone. “They didn’t want our two societies to become friends. I watched as the children of my tribe were spat upon, rotten food thrown at them, simply because of these rumors. Of course it matters if their dreams were influenced by lies, it caused them to fear and hate us, which turned into them killing us. Enslaving us.”

So Dream of the Endless did have people he cared about. Char was actually surprised at that, because she had always thought the Endless kept away from mortals, except when their duties required interaction. But they had something in common; their friends were sparse, and held quite dear to them, it would seem. 

“I agree,” she said, nodding her head once. “I have walked through most of human history, and have seen horrifying deeds done in the name of greed alone.”

Gods, this man was infuriating. Why did it matter if her friends had reacted horribly to her powers? His realm was the Dreaming, not the waking world, so whatever happened there didn’t concern him. And him just asking those questions brought up those feelings that she had forced herself to push down; guilt, sadness, regret. But what else could she have done? She couldn’t just sit by and watch her friends be tortured by some creature, regardless if it was in that creature’s nature to do so. 

|| @phencyclidinc

Usually, the two of them could handle any problem handed to them. Between Charlotte and Angel, they had most of their bases covered; strength, speed, intelligence. But neither of them were truly invincible, and both had their limits.

An alarm had been tripped, or one of the guards that had sadly been in their way as they infiltrated the warehouse hadn't been knocked out like they thought and called for backup. Either way, they were about to be outnumbered twenty to one. What little hope Charlotte had for the situation to resolve itself was quickly dwindling, and by the time her girlfriend called things off, she had decided to do the same thing.